From High Places
by Caltrop
Summary: Even with the amount of potential love interests surrounding him, an outcast jolteon just can't seem to crack the code on how to find college romance. A quasi-parody on high school/anthro fics.


Disclaimer: This fic is not meant to support the use of psychoactive drugs. Also I don't own Pokémon.

I just wanted to experiment with this story, but I can continue if people are interested enough. Also, OC submissions will be taken into consideration.

* * *

My name is Cal, and I'm a student at L'Appel college. That's how most of these stories begin, right? You know, the stories with the awkward kid in school who is supposedly not cut out for a relationship until a girl miraculously falls into his lap? I guess it could use some work but I'll deal with that later. The important thing for you to know now is that, unlike other stories following such trite an existence, this story takes place in _college_. Not stinking high school, not middle school, and definitely not elementary school. _College_.

But before you go spewing your preconceptions about college, let me tell you, no, not everyone is having sex with everyone. I am a prime example of that, and as long as _I'm_ not having sex with anyone, _not a one_ is having sex. Alas, I should tell that to the couple moaning their heads off a few doors down. This is a perfect start to the last semester of my final year.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not making a good first impression. To tell you the truth, I'm not conceited, I'm just salty because of my misfortune when it comes to females.

Ahem. Anyway.

College, for those of you little boys and girls reading at home, is somewhat like high school, but on steroids—literally; L'Appel's football team is juiced up on anabolics at all times, making those jocks quite the formidable foes, both on the field _and_ in the lecture halls. In high school that'd be condemned, but in college they call it "being competitive," so coaches will never stop sucking off the teams' shrunken Tic Tacs for the sake of me not having to fear being harassed in the halls by meatheads. (I forgot to mention, kids, that my salty edge will show no mercy on your youthful, innocent eyes.) Since I've mentioned such a notorious archetype, I'm sure you're wondering what other archetypes could possibly play a role in my story besides jocks. Not many, but for entertainment's sake, I'll blow things out of proportion just for you.

We have the brutal jocks of course, the ditzy valley girls, the nerds, the freaks, the guys who do nothing but sit in the commons and play their stupid Spanish guitars, the druggies, the cool cats, the hood rats, the kids who care a little too much about Japanese culture, the trans—

"But Cal! No cliché high school story is complete without goths!"

W-what? Oh. The arcane "goth kid," right. It's usually after high school that such beings evolve into theater kids with colorfully dyed hair. I dunno why you care so much about that but if you want, I'll add goths to the story.

Me? Well, I view myself as nothing. A pure vagrant who chooses no specific path. However, my friends say I'm, at heart, the archetype of that quiet, weird kid you see sitting by himself at the lunch table eating saltines. So, _I guess_ we can go with that then...

My name is Cal, and I'm one of those weird, quiet students at L'Appel college.

Also, a little heads up. Much like all the other clichéd school stories, this story in particular houses anthropomorphic pokémon. I am a jolteon donning a grey jumper. Oof. Now that I've finally stated my species I can already feel a vast amount of readers vanishing out of disinterest. "Cal, why can't you be a cooler eeveelution?" Dude, I can't just choose my species. I don't have the option of choosing how cool I'm gonna be as I'm fresh out the whom, the doctor presenting me with a customizable birth certificate that thenceforth defines my entire physical being. (I'm trying my best to sell out, so why are you still so picky?)

Is it my species? Is that why girls aren't materializing in my lap? Must be, because it can't be the fact that I'm a sulking heap of oversized sweatpants and sweatshirts. Alternatively, I could be cursed. I haven't had sexual relations since the 1930s. That's what a xatu told me during a psychic reading as she assessed my former incarnations. Although, I think xatu as a species can only look into the future, making this xatu's practice a little questionable. Later, after accidentally bumping into him in a department store, an absol spat that he sensed the rest of my life was going to be a disaster. Now, that sounded much more plausible, so I told him he should go into the psychic readings business.

Really, the fact of the matter is, real life doesn't always bear the fruit you'd want it to. Miracles are called miracles for a reason. They don't happen often, and one especially hasn't happened in the four years I've been here. In freshman year, I got close, however. I was seeing a salazzle. It wasn't sexual yet, but it was a borderline romantic relationship. That is, until one day. She led me into her room, claiming she had something to show me. _Oh god, it's gonna be a strap-on. It's gonna be a strap-on._ Grinning from ear to ear, she pulled a rifle out from under her bed and said, "You like?" I couldn't quite find the words so I mumbled a faint-hearted uh-huh as I inwardly prayed to the gods to get me out of that situation, to which Arceus's disembodied voice replied, "How'd she even get that gun on campus? Your school is really messed up, my man."

I excused myself to go to the bathroom and never returned. I figured, since it was so easy the first time to become somewhat involved with a girl, my luck would stay consistent throughout the rest of college. Three years later...here I am, not once bearing witness to the depraved orgy that college is conceived to be. To this day, I kind of wish she had showed me her prized collection of strap-ons instead, for at least it would have terminated the dry spell that is my entire life—albeit very painfully. The salazzle stalked me from then on until she eventually gave up. The experience traumatized me and turned me off of relationships, so I instead sought for one-night stands. During the weekends I'd take ecstasy and go clubbing, you know, to give myself that much-needed confidence. With each try, I'd get too lost in the inundations of the bass reverberating throughout the clubs to even bother with women. Months later, the ecstasy gradually turned on me and started making me vomit amid the mosh pits. Did I mention this isn't a high school fic? Yes? Okay.

As school went on, I was randomly offered ketamine as a substitute to hopefully get me back on the dance floor. Feeling the relapsing sensation of speediness and nausea at the mere thought of doing more drugs, I fortunately declined the offer, figuring I shouldn't need to resort to such criminal deeds to either find a girl or suppress the memories of the insane salazzle with a gun.

And thus, the dry spell continued indefinitely.

My name is Cal, and I'm one of those lonely jolteon at L'Appel college. I sit here writing this as the couple a few doors down have shared their second climax. With my headphones broken and my earplugs forgotten at home, I won't be getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

My first class was a math requirement that I had put off until my very last semester, just so I could torture myself with the ominous imminence of PEMDAS and Pi. I've no friends in this class as far as I know, so it's going to be extra hard getting by. I pull out my notebook and pencil and place them neatly on the desk before me. Since I'm early, I'm granted the opportunity to disassemble my mechanical pencil and reassemble it several times, which is always a joy... Once I am finished having the time of my life, I decide to note each archetypical character that comes through the door. Ah, a proper geek, outfitted with a mean-looking protractor. He's followed by the confused freshman who's been lost on campus since his arrival. Then comes a theater kid, or as you like to call it, a goth. The jocks come last, because they care less, naturally, and are followed by none other than the professor: an alakazam! How original, am I right?

The professor starts us off by refreshing our memories (or lack thereof) of high school calculus. Woah, hold the hell up. He's completely skipped PEMDAS! Where's the basic addition and subtraction? How could you be so inconsiderate as to assume we all know our elementary-level math skills? I begin sweating as the sine wave on the chalkboard glares back at me, its never-ending curves making my onyx eyes spin in circles.

I curse under my breath when the alakazam suggests we partner up with the person to our side. I nervously glance to the right. No one's there. Is it my lucky day? Can I helplessly die alone without bringing some other poor soul down with me?

"Hey." My heart sinks as I hear a faint whisper. "Over here."

I crane my head to my left and, oh my god, what do I see? A salazzle. The sight of her sends me into shivers as I feel the remnants of my last dose of X taking control over me again. "D-do we know each other?" I somehow sputter, fearing the worst.

She frowns. "No? We don't have to know each other to be partners though." Her weird look makes me feel small and stupid, so I try to rectify my poor first impression.

"Uh, sorry. I mean, I knew someone who looks like y-you... Erm..."

This seems to perk up the salazzle a bit. "You mean Caitlyn?"

"Y-yeah...! How'd you—? Oh no, tell me you're not sisters."

Her eyes widen before she grimaces rather cutely. "God no. She seems insane."

Hearing this makes me feel incredibly relieved. Despite the fits of bodily dysmorphia I was experiencing due to my PTSD, I manage to chuckle. "Tell me about it... I was kinda, uh, kinda—"

"With her...?" she asks with a small gasp.

"Yerr," I mumble, ashamed.

"Yuck, man." She suddenly smirks with an unexpected sultriness to her demeanor. "While I can safely say you've got poor taste in women, you've at least got great taste in species."

Holy shit! Did you just hear that? And with that smile, and not to mention the way she made eye-contact with me, it was surreal the implication she just made. I should ask her out this instant. "Cal, don't be foolish." You're right. I can't just ask her out, as she's a total stranger. Uh, I have to throw a cheeky implication back at her. Yeah! But what?

"Wanna go out?"

Dammit Cal, no. That doesn't even _imply_ anything. Be cheeky. Girls like that, I think...

"O-oh, you're saying you can do better?" I utter. Oh no, was that too mean? Did that even make sense?

My face flushing, I eye her apprehensively to see her reaction. The salazzle frowns and averts her gaze from me—uh oh—and looks at her lap. "I wouldn't know," she sighs solemnly, her mood taking a drastic turn. "Perhaps relationships bring out the worst in people." She gives me a sheepish smile, though her attitude is anything but happy. What do I do? Do I console her? Eh, I don't really care. She smiled at me, and if that ain't a good enough cue for me to ask her out then I dunno what is.

"Cal...relationships take time before they're established. You must take time to meld naturally into another's life, building a friendship that's grounded on common interests."

You're right, friend. Because, right now, I sound like one of those kids who comes knocking on your door, saying, "Hey Cal, can I play your Wii?" No "hi" or "how are you?" or anything. Just as I'm not some guy whose worth is denoted by the fact that he owns a Wii, a girl's purpose isn't to court you just because she's of the opposite sex. Besides, this girl, this _salazzle_ , in particular puts me on edge because of her species. The professor instructs us to do things and stuff shortly after, and I confide my mathematical ineptitude to the salazzle, just to throw that on the table earlier rather than later. She reminds me I'm in a Intro. to Pre Calc for Starters class and that no one here is good at math, which makes me feel a tad less insecure.

The more we do things and stuff throughout the class, the more I realize that this girl is actually quite cool. Nonetheless, I make it a conscious effort not to pursue her. At one point she bends over to grab her pencil off the floor, so I avert my eyes from her butt and glue them onto the window instead: L'Appel was a private school, a cozy mountain house in the snowy Adobe Mountain range. It was an odd school in that it was one building, spanning across the mountain side. It stood tall while tunneling deep inside the bedrock to accommodate its populace. Everywhere, the floors were a soft Persian rug, and around every turn was a homey fireplace. And, of course, there was an expansive grounds surrounding the building for ice-types to roam upon, complete with an icy lake and boathouse and a ski lodge.

"I'm Aliph, by the way," she says as she reappears, pencil in hand.

"Cal," I respond. "Where are you living?"

"In the third lobby junction, west."

"No way!" Oh no. I live close to her. "I'm in 3W08."

"3W12. Wow..."

I blanch as a foul thought arises. With trepidation, I stutter, "Were you...were you on campus last night then...?"

Aliph notices my unease before it dawns on her. She adopts a huge cynical grin. "You mean, to have heard the moaning?" Phew, it wasn't her that was moaning. Perhaps the violent sex that had taken place and kept me up was really a blessing in disguise, as it gives us something to talk (or complain) about. However, my plans of engaging in prodigious bouts of cynicism with Aliph go awry when she suddenly reenacts the scene a little too loudly. "Oh, fuck me Arthur...!" Groping the table, she sways back and forth in staggered movements. She isn't exaggerating. In fact, her presentation is almost identical to the real thing, at least in my memory. This attracts attention from some other students around the room. They glare at me as I withdraw into my hood.

The alakazam rolls his eyes—as all alakazam professors do—and dismisses us with the homework written on the board. I give Aliph a look. "Why'd you do that so loudly?"

"Did I give you flashbacks? Could you visualize it?"

Electricity makes my fur stick out as I feel a malicious presence behind me. "Did you enjoy the show?" comes a gruff and angry voice. I turn to face Arthur, sub-captain of the football team and quarterback whose notoriety stems from his surreptitious usage of special moves during games. He is also a...eh... Now, what species was he? Oh, of course! A blaziken. Because, duh, stereotypes are always overused in literature. "Don't like, don't listen. That's what I always say."

I am regretting bringing up the "blessing in disguise" to Aliph as I cower beneath the giant, reading the letters engraved in my mechanical pencil so as to act preoccupied: _SigmaPen 0.5 lead_. I then remember I've forgotten my 0.5mm lead cartridges at home.

"Oh, sorry Arthur," says Aliph politely. "Couldn't you tell your friend to be a little quieter next time, please? Or at least, do it earlier, before curfew?"

"Relax," Arthur says with a grin, "I don't even know who that bitch was. I doubt you'll hear her again."

"Killed her off, huh?"

Arthur doesn't seem to notice the salazzle's snide joke, as most meatheads are too far in the clouds to really care what others have to say. Instead, he's continuing to be a menace to me as his face draws nearer to mine. "Hey there, bud. You still selling this semester?"

Asshole. "I-I wasn't e-even selling last semester. I don't have anything on me."

Arthur stands up tall again and flexes his muscles, making his feathers do the ruffly thing that all girls seem to swoon over. Cracking his neck, he states: "I see you carrying around your stupid medicine case. I know what you've got in there."

"Vitamins..."

"Sissy. There's only one supplement that matters." Creatine? "And that's good ol' protein." He points to his pants, addressing Aliph, and, with a wink, adds, "I bet you know about that, hun." With that, he finally leaves.

Aliph puts her stuff in her bag quietly before getting up. Seeing me shaking, she rests her hand in the crook of my neck briefly, sliding it away as she proceeds to the door. Arthur lives in the same wing as me this semester. Fortunately though, the silver lining would be that Aliph also lives in the same wing, although I'm sure that prospect will be thwarted by my irrational fear towards her species.

The search continues...

My next class was going to be Studio Comp that my mom insisted I take. I can't wait to be bad at yet another subject, all the while having my ears devastated by some kid endlessly playing his Spanish guitar. And that's exactly what happens: I enter the class to the horrific sight of _frequency theory_ written on the board whilst two guitars are already blaring in my ears. The only seat available is one next to a lycanroc (the less evil-looking form), one paw on a lapsteel guitar, the other on her laptop. Time to start crying.

"Pair up," says the chatot professor. Whoa, deja vu.

I glance at the lycanroc. She mirrors my unamused glance. _Don't you dare pluck that lapsteel._ I can't really complain though, seeing as this questionable recurrence of pair-ups has helped me talk to more girls than usual (two girls and counting). Let's just hope this one is as nice as Aliph.

"Now that you've all found a partner, we're going to do an experiment," the professor caws. "One person will sing something for a minute while the other records and adjusts the EQ accordingly. Then you will both swap."

"Can we record our Spanish guitars instead, professor, braj?"

"If you'd rather that than sing, sure." The chatot grants us access to use the private studios for our experiment as I feel sweat beginning to saturate my fur. At least we are doing this in private, though I still don't like the idea of this lycanroc hearing me flounder about trying to sing something. Nor do I know how to adjust an "EQ." These two classes are really doing a good job taking me out of my comfort zone to insane degrees.

The two of us find a vacant studio room and enter, shutting the door behind us. The lycanroc wordlessly sits her laptop on a desk and begins fiddling with machinery. Neither of us have spoken since the class split up, so I decide to say something, just to break the silence. "What are you doing?"

"Hooking up this interface to my computer."

"You're really going into it."

The lycanroc gives me a sidelong look. "You'd rather record using the comp's built-in input?"

"I was just making a comment. Although, wouldn't it suffice doing that for the sake of a mere experiment...?" This is why people don't like me.

The lycanroc gets up and, without warning, breaches the boundaries of my personal bubble. Literally face-to-face, she says, "Using a proper microphone makes it easier to cut down offensive frequencies. Does that answer 'suffice'?" She returns to her work, leaving me feeling a bit dumb and regretful. I figure she must feel bad for me because she gives me a quick, apologetic smile as she works. You know, disregarding what a guy-who-plays-guitar archetype she is, there is something enticing about her. It could be her mysterious nature that later unveils itself to be kinda mean.

One moment later a microphone is being shoved in my face. I vigorously shake my head in reluctance. "Can you go first? I c-can't sing."

"Neither can I, but it doesn't matter," she insists. "Just give it the best you've got." She sits at the computer and taps a button, signaling me to sing.

I take a deep breath and sing the first thing that comes to me. "R-row, row, row your boat..." I shake my head. No, no, sing something else. Impress her with lyrics to an old-school band that she surely must appreciate as a musician. "I am the walrein. Koo-koo-ka-chu." This gets a nod out of her, the rock-type's eyes still stuck to the screen. I try something else. "And it's...just...a box of rain. Wind and water..." No reaction for that one. This one she'll surely appreciate, but only if I crouch a bit and shuffle my legs back and forth while stomping my foot.

"I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need...!"

"And IIIIIIIIII...!" she impulsively harmonizes.

"And I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree," I smile, exaggerating my movements goofily. "Make my wish come true...!"

We both sing: "ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...IS YOU!"

I end it, echoing "baby" over and over until I fade out. Chuckling, I nod at the lycanroc, whose stone face is back to work, her face mere inches from the screen. I lose my smile seeing this. "All work in the front, but there _is_ party in the back," I note.

"Oh," she responds, " _there's a party_." She gets up and moves me out of her way so she can sit, holding her lapsteel. "Your turn to do the thing at the computer."

"I don't know how to do that."

"What are you doing then?" She sounds agitated. "If this course isn't a requirement of your major then are you here to learn?"

True, such courses are not mandatory, but that doesn't mean I'm here to voluntarily learn this material, truth be told. Mom thought music would be a good outlet for my stagnant lifestyle, and I figured it couldn't be too hard to get a grade and move on. I explain this to her and then add, "I've been really out of my element the both classes I've been in today. So, that's why I'm like this."

"Here, move over. I assure you music is fun, but I suppose if you've not started off as a musician then Music Composition can be a bit harrowing." I shift aside so she can sit. She angles the screen for both of us to see and she starts messing with the EQ for my singing, showing me the basics. As she does so I can't help but look her over, her passion for the subject being strangely attractive but definitely not the only thing attractive about her.

What is that thing they call it, when you're standing over an edge looking down and you feel the inexplicable urge to jump? It's to do with the temptation of instantaneously ending everything—ruining everything—even when jumping is the last thing your conscious mind would ever want to do. Oh yeah, they call it "the call of the void," and I get pretty bad cases of it on the regular. Except, instead of jumping from a high place, I'm inclined to ask cool girls out on dates and thusly put the brakes on whatever friendship could have developed, permanently. I tell myself, "you can't do that, stupid idiot." It's that little person inside of me thinking about nothing but playing the Wii. No hi's or how are you's, just Wii. To stave off my subconscious impulses, I instead ask her something of lesser extremity than to simply be my girlfriend.

She finally meets my gaze and stops her tutoring short, her blue eyes shifting ever so slightly to give equal attention to both of mine. "Perhaps, if you want," I start, "you could teach me more after class...?" That's not sketchy; it's a simple plead for help that's justified in that I _do_ really need help with the subject if I want to get by during classes.

She blinks, the question having caught her off guard. When she responds, it's not a cold yes or no. Surprisingly, it's a flattered, almost enchanted "yeah"!

The rest of the class goes smoothly. We regroup in the main classroom and give the chatot our work on flash drives before he dismisses us. As we exit the class, Tammi and I—Tammi being the lycanroc—walking abreast of each other, bump into the last person I'd ever want to see... One punch to my arm later and a familiar red mass of muscles is hounding me in my face.

"Oi oi," says Arthur, causing Tammi to recoil in shock. "My buddy, don't think I've forgotten about our deal."

"Ow," I grasp my arm. "What deal?"

"Sell me your X. C'mon, five bucks." A dose is way more than five bucks, you piece of shit. He bumps me backward with his chest so he can trap me against the wall. Getting real serious, he murmurs, "I'm not playing around."

I look over at Tammi for help, but instead of being fearful of the blaziken, she's scowling at me.

"I'm-I'm-I'm telling you I d-don't—"

"My ass. You dealt to literally all my friends. The boys don't lie, Cal." He lets up and grimly adds, "Next time I see you, you're selling me your X." With that, he storms off. Where did he come from? Is he seriously following me like this?

I brush myself off, trying to be casual, but when I notice Tammi still scowling my heart drops a bit. "...What?" I attempt at a lighthearted chuckle.

"Nothing, it's just that, you didn't seem like that kind of person." She sounds sort of disappointed.

"No, no, he's just—"

Tammi makes a 180 and heads off. "See you in class." In class? Does that mean our plans have been cancelled?

That night, I lay in bed, listening to some extraordinarily loud moaning coming from a few rooms down. It isn't the same girl this time, I can tell, but she's moaning up a storm all the same. I stew under my bed covers in the glistening light of the moon, gritting my teeth. How can that girl be enjoying herself so much? With all the roids Arthur takes, isn't he supposed to be useless and shriveled down there? Why does life never work in my favor? I lift the bed sheet up and peek at my own member, it being halfway erect, fueled in part by the moaning but mostly fueled by anger and envy. I lower the covers again, trying to ignore my angerection, and begin to toss and turn as I normally do.

Moans.

Moans...

The moans.

That's it. I'm gonna destroy this kid for what he's done. They say you should never have sex on ecstasy, because all sober orgasms after that are but mere acupuncture in your groin in the shadow of the "ultra orgasm." If this kid wants ecstasy so bad, I'll give it to him.

The next morning, I get up and go to my psych class. Finally, a topic I'm used to. However, I don't pay attention as I'm too focused on my plan. My friend Ray, a sceptile, sits beside my. I whisper to him, "You know where I can get pills quick?"

The sceptile squints at me. "Don't you get them offline or whatever?"

"I need one really quick though. It doesn't have to be all natural. I don't care if it's full of chemicals; it's not for me."

"What the fuck? We're talking about ecstasy right?"

I stare him dead in the eyes. "Help me out here. I'm about to destroy Arthur's life."

The sceptile's eyes go wide. "Yes, dude," he says excitedly. Later on that day, I'm having a secret meeting with Ray and a couple other chums, Salvador the gigalith and Toby the drowzee. We're gathered around a bowl of chips as we discuss the plan. All of them having been past victims of Arthur, they seem pretty eager to help.

"Jill, the scrafty," claims Toby.

"How do you know?"

"I can tell. I see her at the club all the time and I just know. Same aura emanating from her each time."

"I'm friends with her friend," says Ray. "I could ask her about it."

"No," I butt in. "I'll ask myself." It might sound unbelievable to you, but all my friends have come way farther than me in the romance department, no thanks to my shyness. Therefore, I tell myself it's time to take control. "Now, the only problem is trying to find a girl."

Salvador smirks. "Easy. Most of my girl friends have, at one point, talked about doing Arthur, much to my dismay."

"That's disgusting."

"I know! Like, what do they find attractive in him?"

"You're going to have to talk to them yourself," I tell Salvador. "It'd be weird if I wingman for a stranger." I turn to face the rest of them. "Now, the drug only peaks for about a couple hours, so whatever girl we find to do the task is going to have to be on her A-game. She's got to lead Arthur out of the club, all the way back to her dorm before she runs out of time."

They all nod in understanding. After we finalize some of the more minor details, we break. First stop on my list is a girl named Sam, a friend of the scrafty. Rounding the corner to the main lodge, I see some others scattered about either quietly chatting or taking in the warmth of the fireplaces. I see who I assume to be Sam, lounging in a rocking chair, reading a novel. My heart skips a beat as I first take in the view. She's a stunning lucario. Hey, I heard that! I heard you go "yes!" under your breath; don't act like you didn't.

Damn, since when was Ray friends with such good-looking people? I start tensing up before I remind myself I've talked to two cute girls so far this week, so talking to this one should be a cakewalk. Although, there's no professor here to forcibly pair us up together now, so I really am on my own. I approach as she looks up at me. Despite me looking down on her, I feel it's quite the opposite. I've interrupted her reading and begin to feel small and regretful, but I push myself to talk to her regardless. "Uh, hi. Sam, right?"

"Yes?"

"Hi. Uh, you're friends with Devon, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know if she's selling, er..."

Sam looks dumbfounded, but when she finally grasps what I'm asking for she rolls her eyes. "Eugh, why's she sending all her druggy buddies to me, now?" she groans inwardly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It's not for me, though!"

"Yeah." Sam raises a brow and gives me a skeptical smirk. "Sure."

I, too, roll my eyes, as I'm becoming fed up just as much as her. "Can you just tell me where she is, please?"

"I'm sorry." She smiles. "I'd rather not get involved. I don't like to condone that kind of stuff." Oh, come on. It's not the _worst_ drug out there! You've got K2 and heroin and you're worried about ecstasy?

I decide that maybe she'll be more compliant if I tell her what I'm doing. "Listen, I'm seriously not doing the drug myself. I'm giving it to someone so I can get revenge on them." Now, does that sound like something one would be more willing to comply with...? No? Well, I must be a psychopath because, to me, it sounds like a swell and justified reason to disclose Devon's whereabouts.

Sam is _really_ dumbfounded at this point. "You're trying to poison someone for revenge? Jesus, dude." She pauses momentarily, mulling something over. "Is he or she an asshole?"

"He is."

"A bully?"

"A right bully."

"Tell me who and I _might_ tell you where Devon is."

Ah crap. What if Sam is friendly with Arthur? That really wouldn't surprise me, and if she is then she could compromise my whole mission—and the rest of my semester, too; if Arthur finds out I'm up to some surreptitious deception he'd bash me into the ground. "Are you going to tell him? Would you rat me out?"

"Depends who you're talking about." She purses her lips in a stern manner, making me quiver in discomfort. Oh boy, this is really a gamble. After a moment, I kneel down and whisper in her ear. "Are you serious!"

I try to shush her as I frantically look around the room at the attention Sam's received.

"No way can you do that to him," she asserts. "He's such a sweetheart. How could you do something like that?" Pssh, really? "No, find Devon yourself."

Welp, at least it doesn't sound like she wants to compromise me. Alas, there's one last gambit I can resort to: crouching down, I tell her in a hushed voice, "What if my revenge requires a girl to sleep with him. W-would you do it...?"

She glowers at me, appalled at first, but stares into the fire. I sit on the hearth while she ponders the proposition. "What on Earth is your 'revenge'?" she asks, but mostly to herself.

I sigh. "Well, uhm...I just want him to have an orgasm on ecstasy so all his sober orgasms pale in comparison. It's nothing to do with poisoning anyone."

For some reason, Sam lurches back into her chair, wide-eyed, as if she's had a revelation. "Oh my god, I thought you were talking about meth this entire time." She slaps her face incredulously as I stare, mouth agape.

"You thought I wanted...m-meth? Like, crystal?" I shudder at the thought of finding Devon the scrafty in her shady room, the floor littered with crushed up pill powder and empty bottles of antifreeze. I ought to berate Toby for this later on!

Glancing around the room, Sam pulls me closer and utters the unthinkable. "I've got leftover MDMA back at my dorm. It's really good, and I'll give it to you for free, but...I want in on your plan."

She's got molly of her own? What a bloody hypocrite. I try to talk but I can't find the words. It'd kill me to see this beautiful person do it with such a jackass, let alone by my own hand! But, free molly is free molly, so I agree. Having access to both the necessary cogs constituting the machine that is my plan, it's officially decided that I'm going through with this.

My name is Cal, and I'm a jolteon at L'Appel college who's about to righteously ruin someone's sex life forever.


End file.
